And Cities Made of Song
by Bodldops
Summary: The Doctor does occasionally attempt to go on a vacation. The universe has other plans. It does tend to do that. Ten, Rose
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor, Rose Tyler, or Ace, or the TARDIS – if I did, I wouldn't have killed 7 with a hospital. That all belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.

"So… what is this place again?" Rose asks curiously as she leans against the metal railing surrounding the TARDIS's central console, addressing the owner of the pair of stripped trouser-clad legs that are disappearing underneath said console. He's assured her repeatedly that her jeans and hoodie won't be out of place at their next destination, but other than that, he's been frustratingly spare with the details. He's been promising a purely recreational trip for some time now – no killer aliens, no mysteries, no dead bodies. She was particularly adamant about the dead bodies thing when the topic came up a few weeks (or maybe a month or so) ago – even innocently dead bodies would be inviting trouble, where the Doctor is concerned. He protested that he didn't _mean _to land in all of those problems, he's just traveling, these things just happen. Rose stood firm by her demands, and now they are going to have a nice, simple trip to a nice, simple planet where the inhabitants aren't going to try to eat them or shoot them or hypnotize them or anything else. Fantastic.

"A small little planet called 'Merrlius', you'll love it, fantastic place, it's said the sunsets manage to produce every color in the spectrum every night, brilliant light shows and not a bit of it artificially made. We've landed two hours before today's sunset – just enough time to find a good seat. Just… hang on a moment and let me fix this short… there." The Doctor, his hair and coat rumpled from digging around under the console, pulls himself up from the metal grill floor and triumphantly stabs at a button on the console. In response, a previously darkened board lights up, and he beams like a kid at Christmas. Rose has to smile back – there's no way anyone can just ignore such bright flashes of joy. Besides, he's her Doctor, and when he's happy, everything's just that much better. Then, rousing with a sudden burst of energy, he whirls to the other side of the console to the pile of supplies he left there before starting the landing sequence.  
"I haven't been here in ages… well, when I say ages, I mean centuries." He pauses, thinking, squinting at nothing at particular while he works out what he actually does mean. "Well… A century. Well…" He rambles on, but Rose is impatient to see the new world he has landed them on, and bounces off down the connecting walk to the door. "You'll just love it, Rose. The sea air, the lanara gyrfalcons coasting on the rising thermals…"  
"My mum's cooking…" Rose chimes in, with a faintly smug edge, as she peers out the door. She knows he isn't fond of her mum. They're not actively antagonistic, thank goodness (now, anyway), but he quite obviously isn't fond. He can just deal, though. Sure, her mum can be a bit overbearing, but she's her mum, so Rose is always glad to be home (when she hasn't been tricked into going by overprotective Time Lords, of course). She thinks it's rather funny, the way the Doctor always whines and moans and pouts like a little boy being forced to go see the headmaster.  
"Your mum's… what? No. No, that can't be right." The Doctor, startled out of his ramble, stares dumbly at her back for a moment before charging down the walk after her, his long brown coat flapping behind in his wake. "Not that I would agree with that statement in the first place, but what would your mum be doing on Mer…?" Then she pulls the door open a little further, and he can see what she's already discovered.  
The view from outside the TARDIS is the distinctly un-exotic alleyway being the Powell Estates. It sounds like London as well – cars and buses and bells in the distance. It definitely smells like the alley they usually land in, and like garbage pick-up had better be soon because something is definitely due to go out there. They have come back home.  
The Doctor's first reaction is stubborn, outright refusal to believe the TARDIS has brought them here on purpose, while Rose follows in his wake, trying to keep up with his million-mile-an-hour rant on why, exactly, they cannot be in London in the year 2005, and must instead be, at least on some level, on Merrlius in the year 5346 (by the revised calendar). Furiously he checks the coordinates – they are definitely still set for somewhere other than Earth, Rose can tell that by now. Stymied, the Doctor begins checking every dial, every gauge, every lever, trying to find the one missing piece that once found will solve this mystery. Moreover, the whole time, without missing a beat, he throws out theories as to why, exactly, they can see London outside the TARDIS without London actually being outside the TARDIS, because it can't be, really. Sometimes the Doctor's diatribe is so convincing Rose has to go back to check outside the door to make sure that yes, it is indeed the old alleyway.  
"Doctor, can't we just go out there? I mean… it does look like home." She asks once, tired of watching him pace and fret, but she receives such a long and convoluted answer that sums up to 'no, because I do not know what is going on now do try to be helpful' that she doesn't ask again. He seems to be convinced it's all some elaborate illusion designed to tempt them out of the TARDIS (though what could be tempting about that particular alleyway, he rambles, dodging Rose's swat). If they do leave the safety of the TARDIS, it will be very very dangerous and she should be pleased he isn't charging into the unknown for once, right? She rolls her eyes at that argument, with very little visible (or audible) effect on his determination to sort out the cause of this mystery. He continues to work feverishly, though to Rose's inexpert eyes it looks very much like fluttering. She's never seen him look quite so flustered.

Then he stops. Just freezes. He stops so suddenly that it is almost a physical shock to Rose, who had resorted to perching on the metal railing, her chin in her hands as she was watching him circle.  
"What?" She asks, concerned. When that gets no answer, she asks again. "Doctor, what is it?" She's suddenly more than a little nervous. He looks so focused, and so utterly bewildered – she's found she doesn't like it when he looks confused, not like that. Bad things tend to happen when he starts looking like that.  
"Someone's called for the TARDIS. Like a… emergency beacon of some kind." The Doctor answers, slowly, almost hesitant.  
"Isn't that like those… what did you call them… mauve alerts?" She asks. She (sort-of) understands those, they've dealt with those before.  
"No." Rose slips off the railings quietly and hurries over to where he's standing. He looks like someone's sucker-punched him, his eyes dark and cold and infinitely sad.  
"Doctor?" She asks, as she wraps both her hands around his free one, chaffing it a little to warm it.  
"Someone has actually called for the TARDIS. This TARDIS, specifically. Someone has the codes to call this TARDIS specifically, and the TARDIS responded to it without even checking with me first. As if she knew who was calling. Or it was an override." He looks down at her, and his brown eyes are ancient. "Rose… no one should be able to do that anymore. Only Gallifrey…" He chokes on the words, and doesn't continue. He doesn't need to. She knows enough of the story by now to know that Gallifrey won't be calling, not ever again.

It doesn't take much convincing after that for them to both end up in the Tyler family flat, with Rose making tea since her mum is still out, probably shopping somewhere considering the hour. They are most definitely in London, even if they don't know why they are here. While Rose knocks around the kitchen, the Doctor starts idly flipping through the channels on the telly to search for clues. It worked a few times before now – got to love some of these 'news' programs with their anything-goes style. They get it right more often than not. After two inane game shows, a talk show with some boy band he knows will never make it, and three cooking shows centering on various uninspiring dishes, he gives up. He feels, with some irritation, that if someone is going to be so rude as to drag them completely off course for an unexplained emergency, they should have the common decency of sending a little follow-up message telling them what's going on. Better yet, meeting them once they landed, that would have been nice. Actually, not being called at all would have been nice. He's not at all happy about this development. Angry, even. He has never enjoyed being called to heel like some sort of wayward pet. At least when it was Gallifrey doing it, he knew what he was dealing with and how to act accordingly. That, however, isn't an option anymore. That said… who could have sent that signal anyway? The TARDIS doesn't know, or won't say. Idly he twirls a stray pen between his fingers, thinking; only marginally acknowledging Rose when she comes in with the tea. He's worried, he's desperately worried, but he can't tell her that. Not only is it unfair to her, he really doesn't want to hear what Jackie will make of this. Nothing flattering, he's sure. They've gotten on a bit better since his regeneration (he wonders if it's the face, or if being rude counters her more effectively than trying to pacify her), but there are limits, surely.

He just wishes he knew who sent that signal.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor, Rose Tyler, or Ace, or the TARDIS – if I did, I wouldn't have killed 7 with a hospital. That all belongs to the BBC. No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.

Between the Doctor brooding and her mum prying, Rose couldn't stand being in that flat a moment longer

Between the Doctor brooding and her mum prying, Rose couldn't stand being in that flat a moment longer. The Doctor was being impossible, of course, staring blankly out the window, completely deaf to any questions. Yes, she does suppose this is traumatic for him, but they are supposed to be a team, not… not separated every time he is reminded that his planet is gone.

She feels she could be angrier, if he hadn't looked so lost.

Her mum, on the other hand, has no excuse. She's always like this though, demanding that she know every last thing that is going on and then offering inane things to fix it – like ham sandwiches and tea and a cup of soup. The Doctor never seemed to hear her, leaving Rose to try and explain and fend off the incessant offers. Well… nuts to that. She has no idea what is going on here, and can only take so many renditions of 'Well, I don't know what you could be talking about, everything is fine, love, now how's about' followed by the next thing her mum could think of cooking up. It is funny though, how her mum's changed since she first met the Doctor. There was a time she'd be happily bouncing him out of the apartment, only too glad that he was down and out and that Rose was home. Still, she's not sure the incessant mothering isn't worse. She couldn't take more than an hour of it before grabbing up her purse and phone and heading for the door. The Doctor didn't even notice, or didn't bother to react. That settled it, really. If he couldn't even be bothered to ask where she was going, he can just deal with her mother himself. Serves him right. If he ever bothers to come out of that funk, he'll find himself walled in by heaps of well-intentioned if badly-timed food. That ought to keep him busy for a while.

Still, she decides, as she wanders amongst the shops and shoppers, aimlessly, it would be nice to have someone to talk to just now. She thought, briefly, about calling up Sarah Jane Smith, to catch up on what must be months, and to discuss what she should do with the Doctor now, how to get him out of this… mope, or whatever it is. But she decided in the end not to – this is her problem, and moreover, her Doctor. What would Sarah Jane think of her if she ran for help every time they hit a bump in the road? Sure, they came to terms by the end of their little adventure, but Sarah Jane had an… easiness, a connection with the Doctor that Rose had envied. Still envies, if she's being honest. She wonders, when she lets herself wonder, if one day that will be her, talking in cryptic phrases and smiling wistfully at the Doctor's back when she thinks he isn't looking. She really hopes not.

There's a sale for shoes in a shop she's never been to, so she pops in to see if there is anything interesting. After trying five different styles of admittedly pretty kick-ass boots, she decides that while they'll definitely turn heads, they'd be murder to run in. Running, she's found, is something one either becomes very very good at while traveling with the Doctor, or one becomes very dead in a hurry. Though of course, it's never his fault. These things just happen. Over and over and over. Like how they are supposed to be on vacation now, and instead he's moping in the apartment and she's shopping, alone. She checks her phone, but just like it said five minutes ago, there have been no calls.

She also wishes Mickey were here, but Mickey is so far gone now, locked away in that parallel Earth, doing big, brave, important things like she never really imagined Mickey doing. Perhaps that was the problem all along. She hopes he's doing alright. She only just avoids bumping into a heavily-laden woman, distracted by thoughts of her lost ex-boyfriend. Though, can he really be called an ex-boyfriend when they never really split up, but can't ever meet again? No one else, she muses, has to worry about what to call a relationship that spans over multiple universes. It's not exactly something you can just choose on your Facebook page, now is it?

She had stopped by the TARDIS, on the way out. Sometimes she's certain the ship is alive, the way it responds to the Doctor, the way the Doctor responds to it. She wishes she could remember what happened when she had cracked open the TARDIS. She wishes she could remember if there was a personality behind the energy that had burned inside her head. But she can only just remember that much, and sometimes she thinks she can only remember that much because that's all the Doctor is willing to say. The TARDIS had been dark and quiet when she had stepped in, humming to itself as it always does, not seeming at all different despite having thrown their lives into turmoil. She had circled the console a few times, trying to spot anything different, anything new that she could run upstairs and inform the Doctor of, but it had all looked the same as it always does.

She'll admit she yelled at it a bit, in frustration. But it is just a ship, right? She hopes it won't tell the Doctor on her. She's just worried.

Idly she notes that her old shop has been rebuilt and remodeled, looking as if that massive explosion that introduced her to the Doctor and his turbulent world never happened. It's a bit eerie, seeing it there. What would her life be, without the Doctor? Firmly, she shakes her head. This is all getting a bit too philosophical, and if she wanted brooding, she would have stayed back at the flat. She has the Doctor's credit card, and she plans on going on a bit of a spree. Traveling with the Doctor is awfully hard on the clothing.

He notices Rose leaving. He just doesn't feel up to an argument right now, so he lets her go. She will come back once she's blown off some steam. He isn't being fair towards her, blocking her out like this, and he knows it, but he's just… it just…

It hurts.

Why can't they leave him alone, these ghosts of Gallifrey? Why is it every time he gets close to accepting he is alone in the universe, every time he starts relaxing and enjoying the universe for what it is, something pops up to show him just how much he's lost? Like he would ever forget! All he has to do is close his eyes, and he can still see it all burning. Once he told his companion that the past sleeps in his mind. That he could call it up at will. It was true, then. He was much younger then, more innocent, freer… he had more to lose, though he didn't know it. Now, the past refuses to sleep. He can hear them scream, hear them die…

He sighs. He would gripe about this not being fair, but the universe hasn't been fair for a very long time, longer than even he has been alive.

Jackie has gone and turned on the tv set again. Evidently even she cannot listen to her own voice forever. He manages to crack a smile at that, though Jackie doesn't see it, being busy in the kitchen busily whipping up… something. He hopes it isn't green. Or have anything to do with head cheese. Some of the stuff she makes, honestly, it would choke a Judoon. Still, it's better than being slapped. He can do without being slapped, thanks.

Briefly he focuses on what's happening on the telly. Some sort of… comedy sketch, he supposes, something to do with a very loud woman in fussy clothes ordering a very brow-beaten man around. Humans are an odd lot, openly mocking behavior like that and then emulating it. Still…

His focus sharpens a bit when the sound is interrupted by music. Not much, just three short notes, and then the woman's piercing voice returns. Odd. But still, television signals are very primitive technology, comparatively, it'd be very easy for…

The same three notes ring out behind him, from the kitchen – it sounds as if they were made by metal on glass. Suddenly energized, he bursts from the chair he's been in for the last several hours and races into the kitchen. Jackie, looking beyond stunned and more than a little furious at him, immediately starts in on him for scaring her. It takes quite a bit of shouting to get her to stop.

Alright, quite a bit of shouting at close quarters.

Alright, quite a bit of shouting at close quarters with his hand over her mouth.

She blinks at him, surprised.

"That noise, that tune, what was it?" He asks, simply, into the ensuing silence. She blinks at him some more. "Look, I'm sorry, but I had to ask quickly and you were talking and…" The blinking turns into a narrow-eyed stare, and she abruptly grabs his arm and… oh yes. Perhaps talking his hand off her mouth would have been useful, there. He has a lot on his mind.

"Are you daft? What noise? I was just making you a bit of toast, which is burnt now, no thanks to you." She grumbles, looking very put out. He frowns at her

"Nonono, I mean, well yes, the toast, thank you, I'm sure, but the tune, you played a tune, just like the one that was on the television, why did you do that?" He asks again, trying to get her to understand.

"You've gone completely off your head, I didn't play a tune, play a tune on what?" But he's looking around now, and there's a fork, on the far side of the kitchen, lying next to three glasses of water. A fork and water, and he bounds away from Jackie to this new discovery. Cautiously, he pings the fork against the glasses.

It's the same sound, the one he heard not minutes before.

And repeated again, behind him, and he whirls to see Jackie setting down a spoon. Her face is eerily blank, with none of the fury and concern that had been on it just a second before. Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.

He needs to find Rose.

Without stopping to explain anything to Jackie (who doesn't much like this turn of events, having rapidly come out of her blank state and not seemingly overly effected by it), he dashes down the flights of stairs at a break-neck pace, stopping only a few moments to check on the TARDIS and to trace Rose's phone. He can't be sure this is why he was called, or if it is even remotely related, but he is here now, and once he finds Rose (and makes sure she will go on being alright), he is going to get to the bottom of this. Earth isn't much, admittedly, but it is the only home he has left, and he doesn't much like it being messed with.

Phone located, he sprints through the streets of London, leaving a trail of bewildered, angry, and shouting humans in his wake. He pays them no mind, only running faster when he hears, behind him, the same three notes. Faster, and faster, and dodging traffic amidst a hail of curses and shouts, and pushing faster when car horns sound in time the same three damnable notes, and the air burns in his lungs as his hearts labor to keep pace as he runs, and he sees her, there ahead, turning to see what the commotion is about, and he tries to shout but he has no air left, and she starts towards him when she should run, like he is running…

But the song beats him.

It surrounds him, the three notes, fleeting on ahead and sounding off of someone's cell phone. Echoed in voice, in instrument, even in footsteps on the pavement. All around him faces go blank, personalities disappear.

She disappears, freezing into a blank automaton, singing the same three notes over and over as the noise reverberates. It is building, adding on to itself as the echoes mount. He tries to shake Rose into wakefulness, desperately, bawling her name into her ear.

She doesn't respond. He wasn't fast enough. None of them will respond, he knows, looking around at a sea of blank, staring faces. As gently as he can he picks Rose up, hoping that on the TARDIS, he will be able to stop this. Hoping that his natural immunity won't wear off before he gets there. He can feel the pull of the notes on his nervous system, playing up and down spinal tracts as he carries his zoned-out companion back along the reverberating London streets. Just a bit more, a half mile, not even that, he has to keep walking or all is lost, because it won't stop in London, it never stops, and, it is so very hard to resist, so very hard to fight as the notes pound up from the pavement through the soles of his shoes, pounds into his ears, seeps into his brain despite every attempt to throw up blocks against it. He is losing, even with the TARDIS in view he is losing, he won't make it, the world, the universe is lost and he is so sorry.

Then the world collapses in a blaze of heat and light and glorious, roaring, nonsensical sound. He laughs giddly, joyfully, even as something tackles him, taking both him and Rose to the ground. It's stopped. It's stopped, for just this moment, the song has stopped.


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever (or whoever) had rammed into them fled the scene just as quickly, leaving the Doctor to try and untangle limbs on his own, and make sure Rose is still alright. Alright being a relative term – considering they were both nearly devolved into sounding boards, he will take whatever he can get, for now. He'll need to catch his breath before launching on to the next crusade.

The air reeks of cordite and the less pleasant smell of burning trash, and fat flakes of ash settle over both of them as he checks Rose over. She is breathing, at least, unconscious for the moment, though he thinks that might be more to blame on their crash into the pavement rather than the song's invasion. He's sure, once Jackie hears of it, she'll never let it go. He was trying, though, he was really trying, that ought to count for something, surely. Peering through the smoke, he can see the light on top of the TARDIS blinking steadily, the ship unharmed by whatever fireworks went off in her vicinity. In a minute he'll work on sorting out why there were fireworks at all – not that he's not appreciative, but he's never met a coincidence he's liked. Innocent coincidences happen to other people – around him, they tend to be more sinister. Besides that, he's already had entirely too many coincidences today to make him at all happy.

Rose stirs, groaning, eliciting what must be an incredibly idiotic grin from him. Humans are so terribly fragile, he forgets that sometimes, and she can complain as much as she wants about the rough handling so long as she's coherent enough to do so. Well, not as long as she wants, but more than he'll usually put up with. Well, maybe not that much. Though generally she does not complain as much as some of his previous companions. Mel, generous, cheerful Mel, was one of the worst offenders, complaining about everything from his diet to the places he took her… though he has to admit he was hardly in fighting form half of the time, and some of those destinations were a bit more iffy than he'd let on at the time. Still, Rose is definitely a trooper, fascinated with the universe and normally ready for any challenge – or at least ready to give it a go, despite not being prepared. His rambling, tumbling thoughts are interrupted as Rose blinks at him in a decidedly unsteady manner.

"Doctor… what… I was by the shops, and…" She verbally flails as she tries to connect her last conscious moment with this one in some sort of logical fashion. It has to be difficult, he muses, without a reliable internal clock, or a lack of any ability to connect with the time of the cosmos – how can you build a framework without having any idea of how much time has passed between one moment and the next?

"Shhhh, you're alright," He grins crookedly at her, delighted, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Give it a moment, and we'll have you back on your feet." He's not sure how to tell her exactly what happened – it's fantastical, he knows, he would hardly believe it himself if he hadn't seen it before, long ago. Very long ago. He probably has a log of it in that old diary he once kept so religiously. He does hope the diary is still around, and not jettisoned in one of the many emergency restructuring attempts of the TARDIS he has done over his lifetime.

"Did I get hit over the head?" She asks, reaching back to gingerly prod at the back of her head. He winces in sympathy, and makes a note that next time he's carrying Rose and desperately trying to get to the TARDIS and about to be tackled by a something/person, to make sure he knows where her skull is at all times. Though really, it'd be much more practical to not get in that position again.

"Oh, it's not that bad." He assures her, able to be caviler now that she's awake and aware and coherent. "Just a bit bump is all." He ignores her dubious look, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his suit before reaching down to offer her a hand up. Her hand, so warm in his, grips tightly as he hauls her up to her feet, and he keeps holding on while she regains her balance.

"What happened here then? Looks like a warzone." Rose comments, wrinkling her nose at the smell, as she peers down the charred alleyway. "Something to do with…" She trails off, giving him a curious look. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat and frowns at the char marks.

"One coincidence is possible. Two is improbable." At her bewildered look, he elaborates in rapid-fire fashion, his ire at the whole situation growing. "There's something very very wrong here, and somehow a mysterious signal brings us here right as it starts to emerge. Second, an explosion goes off in the heart of London right as an aural virus is about to wipe out all intelligence on the planet. Now, I will admit to being very lucky before, but that goes beyond luck, into someone manipulating events for their own purpose, which I do not approve of." Not unless he is the one doing it, but he hasn't gone in for that sort of thing for at least a couple regenerations.

"Wait, an… aural virus? What is that?" Rose backtracks, trying to make sense of his speedily delivered rant.

"Just like your run-of-the-mill virus, it attacks a certain system specifically – in this case, the nervous system, and reproduces by taking over the host's physical function, just like any cold or flu virus you might encounter, but this one is transmitted by sound, pure sound, and only a certain sound, though it will probably mutate before it comes back in force because just like the cold or flu virus, once you encounter that specific strain and survive it, you have an immunity against it." He explains hurriedly, and judging from the way she nods, he has managed to make himself understood this time.

"But… where did it come from?" Rose persists, breaking into his babble.

"They're everywhere, almost every inhabited planet has some form of aural virus." She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts in ahead of her, raising his voice to forestall argument. "It's the song you hear once and then can't get out of your head all day. This is just a more virulent strain – more akin to Ebola, for example, than a cold."

"So… an explosion cured it?" He shakes his head, staring down the street he had just run up.

"Put it into remission. Judging by how fast it spread, this isn't the first time this particular strain has attacked London recently."

"Then why don't people know about it?" Rose demands, brushing ash off of her jeans.

"Do you remember singing?" He asks, suddenly focusing on her. She goes still, then frowns, and shakes her head. "I doubt anyone else does, either. We should get back to…"

He pauses mid-sentence, staring at the ground near his feet.

There, on the pavement, is one earring. One gaudy, rather tasteless earring. It is made of some thin sort of metal, painted to look like gold though the paint is chipped and peeled away in places, cut into a rough spiral by inexpert hands. The bottom edge is bent where it seems it had caught in the edge of the pavement, the hook end also bent out of shape, probably when its owner had fled, leaving it behind. Rose is demanding to know what is going on, concerned no doubt by his sudden silence, but he cannot stop staring at that one earring. Finally he crouches, carefully reaching out to dislodge the trinket and pick it up, holding it in the palm of his hand as he straightens. He cannot be sure. There is so much space in the universe, he cannot be sure. Not yet. But it is so much like an earring he knew before, that once nearly cost the life of one dear to him.

Third coincidence. This is definitely beginning to look sinister. Still not answering Rose's persistent questions, he dashes towards the TARDIS, hardly pausing at the door before belting up the gangway to the console. There is one sure-fire way to know. He hears the door close behind him as Rose enters, but that is secondary to firing up the TARDIS' computers to analyze this cheap, worthless, potentially priceless trinket for…

"Arton energy." He announces, dimly noting that his voice sounds flat, stunned. It should, he feels it. She… can't be here. He left her… he didn't mean to leave her, not so suddenly. But he couldn't take her to Skaro, didn't want her in contact with the Master again, not even with his remains, so he left her, he told her he would be back soon…

And he never went back. Not after the trauma of that regeneration, scattering his memory and nearly killing him in the end. By the time he remembered, a full century had gone by, long enough that he didn't feel he could face her. Not like that, not with a new face and so much time to account for. He would rather she was mad and strong, rather than grieving and torn. She would be. She always thought it was her job to protect him, thankless job that it was, and then he went and got himself killed while she was away. She would never understand.

"What energy?" Rose's question, probably repeated several times by now, pierces his thoughts. He shakes his head, trying to ground himself.

"Arton energy – it powers the heart of the TARDIS, and a bit of it leaks out at all times. You, me, everything in here, it all carries traces of it." He explains, and his voice hasn't gotten any better. He will have to work on that, he's probably scaring Rose.

"Is that safe?" She asks, and he nods. "So this came from the TARDIS?"

"… Yes. Well. No. And yes." He glances over, realizes he's just asking to be yelled at with that non-explanation, and hurries on to explain. "Another one of my companions – not Sarah Jane, but another one, from later, she wore an earring like this on her jacket. It reminded her of…" Of a circus on a desert and deserted world, of evil clowns and capricious gods and a brave werewolf and a sweet girl she'd never had the chance to know.

"Of a place she visited once." He edits, sighing, tracing the edge of the bent and abused metal. "She loved things like that, patches and pins. She collected them, as we traveled." He looks over at Rose again, and watches as curiosity wars with less pleasant jealousy. He isn't sure how she got the idea that no one had traveled with him before she did, but he's glad that, after Sarah Jane, the subject didn't come up again. He doesn't like visiting old companions. He already disrupted their lives once, put them in danger and expected them to just deal with the worst the universe had to offer. And, more often than not, they thrived – all but a few, and it's those few that keep him from trying to reconnect. How could he do that to someone twice, doubling their risk, when they could have a normal life, far away from the insanity that he continually encounters? He's not sure how he would explain that to Rose. He hopes she doesn't think that he will just abandon her.

She would be right to worry, a more honest part of himself points out. He has abandoned so many – Susan, Tegan, Zoe and Jamie (though that was never his choice), Sarah Jane… So many left behind with barely a word of farewell.

He hates goodbyes.

"What was her name?" Rose asks, and he looks over, surprised. It seems that she's come to terms with the fact that not only was she not the first, but is the last of a long line of companions. This is… a good development, he feels. He's pretty sure it is good, anyway.

"Ace. Her name was Ace." Rose nods, obviously trying to encourage further information. He obliges, unable to meet her eyes. "She was from Perivale, but she hated going back there. She didn't entirely cross my path by chance – an old enemy of mine had infiltrated her family line generations before, and could control her fate to a degree. I tried to free her of that." He sighs. "You would have liked her, Rose. But she traveled with me… oh, centuries ago. Long before the me you met at the shop." Rose's hand, impossibly warm, sneaks over his. Yes, Rose would have liked Ace, just as she had learned to like Sarah Jane. And he thinks, that maybe, just maybe, Ace would have liked Rose too. They both understand how to see the universe for the glorious thing it can be, despite the terrible things done throughout it.

"So… how did it get here?" Rose breaks in on his thoughts again as she leans against the console, just outside his personal space, ready to offer comfort but looking hesitant as to how to go about it. "Did you… I mean, does she live on Earth?"

Did you leave her here, he's pretty sure she meant, and his expression sobers even more as he idly traces the curves of the truly tacky bit of jewelry.

"I don't know." He admits, sadly, with a faint shrug. "The last time I saw her, she wasn't on Earth, but she could have hitched a ride – but she wouldn't have come to this time, there wasn't time travel in that era. She would have arrived at a much later date." Rose is leaning against him now, and he can feel her nod against his shoulder.

"Could it be her anyway?" She asks, a curious and somewhat hopeful tone in her voice. Finding an old companion is, he admits, a better scenario than finding someone wearing a precious ornament of an old companion. But he shakes his head. The only means he can think of that she would have access to would be a Time Storm, and it is decidedly unlikely that she would experience two in her lifetime – one was odd enough. Then an idea, a brilliant, stunning idea occurs to him, and he digs frantically through his pockets.

"Though, if I'm clever, and I'm very very clever, I can trace whoever was wearing this – some of the energy signature would have transferred while wearing it, and the sonic screwdriver can pick it up…" His hand finally closes around the slim instrument, and he yanks it out, busily tweaking the settings while Rose stands back. She's hard on his heels when he gives a triumphant shout and races back out of the TARDIS, tracking the trail that leads from the burned-out corner of the alleyway to where he and Rose had been knocked down, and onward. Luckily traffic is light, because he barely pays attention to whether or not a car is speeding in his direction as he jogs across streets, down alleys, and through tortuous back-passages. They cross the Thames twice, and Rose is beginning to flag as they wind their way through the third Underground station of the day. He distracts her with tales of Yeti (which he can tell she only half-believes) and plows on, becoming more determined as the trail grows stronger. He keeps his ears peeled for any signs of the aural virus as they run, but it seems to be on the retreat for now – probably regrouping for an even stronger emergence later, but that is a problem for later.

The trail disappears twice – both times, he's forced to search outward in larger and larger circles, while Rose tags along behind growing increasingly frustrated. When day turns into night, and the streets become deserted, even he has to call it a day once the Underground stops running, making their search take even longer. They retreat back to the flat, and he good-naturedly (or, at least, he tries to be good-natured) endures Jackie's cooking. Jackie peppers them both with questions about where they spent most of the day, and Rose is only to happy to fill her in about the aural virus and about finding the mysterious earring. Jackie is less than impressed by his extensive searched based on the weight of one tacky bit of decoration, but pulls of short of actually mocking him. This, he feels, is improvement. Not much, but definitely improvement. By unanimous decision, they don't watch any television that night.

The next morning he and Rose start off bright and early, after a bracing cup of tea for him and a coffee and croissant for Rose. There is still no sign of the virus, though they both have brought earplugs along (courtesy of a stash from some fellow named 'James', about which neither he nor Rose wanted to know more about). He wants to find out more about the virus, but that isn't his main goal for today. For now, he needs to put old ghosts to rest. By noon, the signal is so strong he's almost on top of the source, he's sure. Sprinting, Rose not more than a step behind him, he rounds a corner towards what looks to be a car garage.

When the sound of music hits his ears, he comes to a screeching halt, hurriedly covering his ears and looking to Rose to see if she's doing the same. But instead she's frowning, her head tilted as she listens. Honestly, didn't she hear him explain about aural viruses?

But her face still contains traces of her lively personality when she turns that frown on him.

"It sounds like jazz." She informs him, as he reads her lips. "A weird sort of jazz." Since she doesn't seem to be infected with anything, he cautiously lowers his hands.

"Doctor!" Rose shouts after him as he stumbles into a run again. That isn't just jazz, it's smooth jazz, a particular sound that brings up memories of a small concert on a manor house lawn, and of Cybermen and statues and explosions. The sound comes from inside the garage, escaping through a half-closed door. In his hand, the screwdriver beeps frantically as the signal reaches its strongest point. There's a motorcycle parked near the door, a Harley, all tricked out with devices that definitely do not belong in this time period. Parts of it appear to be wavering in and out of existence, and further examination reveals that they're definitely existing, just in multiple times. The sounds of jazz come from further in, and, with a hand gesture to Rose to make sure she knows to keep quiet, he carefully creeps further into the packed room. There are bits of machinery, along with clothes, tools, and other miscellaneous things jumbled in random piles, as if some giant tornado had come through and scattered everything into an incomprehensible mush. Under the jazz there is a faint hum that sounds vaguely like a large computer. As he peers around a particularly mis-matched pile of mechanical bits and pieces his judgement is proved right – there stands a very advanced and very large computer, a multitude of lights blinking as it thinks to itself. He can feel Rose move alongside to see as well, and hears her indrawn breath as she turns to him, probably to ask a question, when he stiffens.

She's there.

Her movements are just as smooth as he remembers them being, influenced by an alien infection. She still wears that coat, her beloved leather armor she could never bear to be without for long. Her hair isn't quite as brown as he remembers, now speckled in places with traces of grey. Of course she would refuse to dye it – she always was, never trying to become something she wasn't.

And her hearing is evidently as good as ever.

"Alright, toerag, come on out where I can see you. Don't run, I'll always find you if you run." She growls, staring in the Doctor's direction, her pupils large as she stares into the gloom of the garage. The Doctor, feeling all nerves and sadness and pride, eases out from behind the pile, Rose following behind. The jacketed woman scowls at them both, her eyes flashing with a fire that he knows isn't imagined. She takes a step forward, either to push them out or pull them further in for interrogation, but she freezes in shock at his greeting.

"Hello, Ace."


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment that feels like it lasts both eons and milliseconds at once, the garage is dead silent except for the hum of the computer. Then the stranger draws in a sharp breath, rearing back as if struck. Rose is pretty sure that whatever the correct move should have been, calling this woman 'Ace' really wasn't it. Before she just looked annoyed. Now she looks like she wants to take the Doctor's head off with her bare hands, and she looks the type capable of doing it.

"That was cute. Now who are you?" The accent is from London, or thereabouts, Rose realizes. It could be one of her mates talking, except for the fierce confidence and threat of danger and violence behind that voice. She's not the only one to hear that threat either, because beside her the Doctor shifts his weight forward, though, oddly, she can't tell if he's moving to shield her or moving forward to… confront? Comfort? It could be either, or both at the same time. She sneaks a quick look up at his face, to gauge his mood, and is taken aback by the aching sadness in his eyes. It reminds her of how he looks when he talks about Gallifrey. But beyond that, eh looks… hesitant. That in itself is more shocking than anything else that's happened today.

"Come on then, let's have it. Quickly now, my patience isn't what it was." The stranger growls, obviously unimpressed by the Doctor's show of emotion. The Doctor sucks in a breath as if sucker-punched, and for a moment, Rose feels she can hate this angry stranger with the odd name. Can't she see he's hurting? Cautiously she places a hand on his arm, to lend what support she can, despite not understanding what's going on here.

"Ace…" He says again, his voice near cracking, but he is sharply cut off.

"_Answers_, mate." She snaps, the danger in her voice increasing despite not raising in volume a bit.

"Ace. Listen." He snaps back suddenly. "Just listen, don't do anything but listen. What do you hear, Ace?" His voice is sharp, commanding, what Rose imagines he was like back in that Time War he avoids talking about. The stranger – Ace – looks a bit stunned at the sudden shift of power. Rose hides a grin. He does have a way of doing that. The urge to grin doesn't last long however, as Ace's stance becomes more aggressive, more outrage and more murderous fury at the continued use of the odd moniker. Something about the way the older woman stares at the both of them makes the hairs on the back of Rose's head stand up.

"_Listen_." The Doctor repeats, urgently, with a tone of voice that makes her want to strain her ears. "Surely you have enough control to listen."

Ace cannot seem to resist the order either. She tilts her head, squinting at the pair of them. Silence falls once more, filled only by the hum of the computer. Her suspicious expression deepens after a moment, and Rose's heart sinks. Whatever the Doctor is aiming at, Ace isn't hearing. Then, as if deciding that the pair of them are bound to be annoyingly difficult, the older woman sighs long-sufferingly.

And then her eyes haze over gold.

Rose squeaks, a sound that would be a scream if she were less shocked, her hand tightening on the Doctor's arm, ready to bolt for more open ground. He hurriedly turns to look at her, his intent expression effectively freezing her in place.

"Don't run." He orders, softly, urgently, his fingers a vice as they close over her arm. "Do not run."

"They'll always go for you if you run." Ace finishes for him, her voice suddenly shaky with an emotion Rose can't identify, since the Doctor is blocking her view. She shifts to the side a bit, and is just in time to see all the fury and aggression bleed out of Ace's small frame.

"That's not possible." Ace protests, and for the first time since Rose has seen her, she seems more scared than scary. The Doctor has seen the change too, he must have. Why else would he look so guilty?

"Ace…" He's hurting, but now, so is Ace.

"It's not _possible!_" Ace repeats, as the gold disappears from her eyes, leaving her looking oddly vulnerable in her heavy leather coat. "They're dead. They're all dead. How _dare _you use his memory!" She shouts. Rages. Screams. Rose takes an involuntary step back as rage floods back into Ace's eyes, into her expression and stance, rage and pain and loss all mashed together. Despite the new spike of adrenaline, Rose suddenly feels sorry for her. Well. As sorry as she can get while being afraid for her life. Something hurt this woman very badly, and the Doctor seems to be ripping open all the wounds, even though he's barely said a word. She wants to beg him to stop, but he takes a step forward, one hand reached out, palm towards Ace, almost in supplication, almost in surrender.

"Everyone else died." His voice is glacially calm, infinitely gentle, despite the terrible truth in his words. "They burned, Gallifrey and the Dalek armies together." Rose, almost glad to have been forgotten in this confrontation, watches as Ace's fury crumples again, overwhelmed by grief. This has to stop. Ace might be scary, but no one deserves to hurt like that.

"Doctor…" She starts, then freezes, her heart in her throat, when Ace's gaze fixes on her. It's intent, and fierce, reminding her oddly of one of the great cats at the zoo. Or of those cat people on New New Earth. It's almost… judging. Evaluating. It's a definite relief when Ace turns her attention back to the Doctor.

"Doctor?" She asks, not looking at all reassured when he nods. Rose suspects Ace knew before, but just didn't want to believe it. "You… changed." Now that, Rose can definitely sympathize with. That bewildering, horrifying realization that the man standing in front of you is both the man you know and his replacement.

"I had to regenerate." The Doctor explains, his hand still outstretched, as if that extra distance closer will help Ace understand. "Many times now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't come back. You said it would be quick, but you didn't come back. And then he said you died." There is accusation in Ace's voice, but mostly she just sounds lost, and very alone. "I didn't believe him, not at first, but… you didn't come." Rose can see the words strike home as the Doctor tries not to flinch under the onslaught. She wants to feel sorry for him, does, sort of, but… being left behind is horrible.

"I…" His voice is just as strained as hers – this is in no way easy for him either, it seems. "I was injured. Shot." He pauses as she flinches as if struck. "It was an accident, Ace. You couldn't have stopped it."

Somehow, that is a trigger, though Rose doesn't know why. Ace turns and, in a blur of motion that leaves Rose staring, flees into the maze of stuff she has accumulated in the garage. Distantly, a door creaks open and bangs shut before she can draw another breath. The Doctor sags, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Should we go after her?" Rose asks, softly. She is beginning to understand what is going on here, and despite the lingering jealousy she fears she'll always feel for anyone who has traveled with the Doctor, she feels sorry for Ace as well. To just be left behind, with no explanation, and then told the Doctor is dead… It would be even worse, she thinks, than the Doctor's trick of sending her home from the Gamestation.

"She won't be caught." He sounds tired, and looks tired as well, tired and haggard. "She will come in her own time, but she won't be caught." He examines the massive humming computer for a long moment, then quickly types in a series of numbers. Then, with a distinct lack of his usual curiosity, he stalks out of the garage, leaving Rose to hurry and follow along behind.

The ride back to the flat is silent – the Doctor stares out the window the whole time, Rose doesn't know what to say, and the cabby picks up on the turbulent mood and wisely keeps his thoughts to himself. Predictably, the Doctor heads to the TARDIS first, avoiding the stairs to the flat, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Rose keeps her peace until the Doctor has paced around the console a couple times, and goes on watching him silently until he flops against the cushioned chair and is staring up at the rotor moodily.

"Why didn't you go back?" She almost regrets the question as he sighs, looking as if it physically hurts to even think about it. But he shakes his head, and speaks before she can retract the question and go find something else to do. She settles on the edge of the console – close enough to comfort if she can, far enough so as not to crowd him.

"It was… so long ago. Before the Time War. I had been asked by Gallifrey to rescue the remains of another Time Lord from the Daleks and return them home. She… Ace, she traveled with me then, but I didn't want to expose her to Gallifrey, not yet. I meant to, one day, she is so bright, Romana could have found a place where she would be happy… but she was still learning to control the Cheetah, I didn't want…" Rose doesn't want to stop the story, but she's a bit lost at this point.

"The Cheetah? Was that… the thing, with the eyes?" She asks, hesitantly, stopping when he nods.

"Another long story, but she was… infected, like a virus. It strengthens the fight or flight impulses, weakens rational thought and 'unnecessary' emotions like compassion or regret." He sighs, scrubbing at his face again. "Among other things. She is strong, though, always has been, and she learned how to live with it. It was just too soon, that's all. I didn't want her poked at like some experiment if she slipped again." She moves to sit beside him as his expression grows more distant.

"Things… went wrong." He sounds like he's self-editing as he goes, but she decides now isn't the time to push for the whole story. "I was forced to land in San Francisco, and I was so worried about the TARDIS… I forgot to do a thorough search on the scanners outside. Walked right into a gang gun battle. I might have been able to heal, even then, been able to avoid regenerating and been able to go back and fetch Ace… but a good Samaritan found me and took me to a local hospital. There are some surgical techniques," He notes, dryly, "Which are incompatible with Gallifreyan physiology. The regeneration took a long time to start, and was rougher than I had experienced in a long time. I believe I gave the coroner the scare of his life." His voice is so empty. Detached. She moves to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but he notices how worried she must look quickly, and with a visible effort, he shifts into a more 'normal' demeanor.

"Anyway, by the time I remembered everything, the war had started, and I didn't want to bring the war down on her. She had earned a peaceful life."

"She doesn't seem to be the peaceful sort." Rose points out wryly, earning a vaguely exasperated look in return.

"She never has been. That version of me was… very idealistic. A bit more stubbornly hopeful than he ought to have been." Rose wonders if he means the one Ace knew, or the one he turned into afterwards. Either way, it wasn't the one she met. But she can believe that Ace has always been a fighter. Everything about her screams danger.

What could the Doctor have been like, to pick up someone like that? Sarah Jane she could understand, once she got past the Doctor's failure to ever mention her. Sarah Jane is idealistic, and adventurous.

Ace… maybe once Ace was the same. But something definitely changed her. Rose isn't sure she wants to find out what that was.


End file.
